


Spontaneous

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Platonic Kissing, Sehnsucht Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 10:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14975663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Paul and Richard stay behind at the hotel, in wait for the others to return with food. Paul is acting a little weird and affectionate, but that's typical. Well, maybe notthataffectionate.





	Spontaneous

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I'm telling you, 1997 [blonde](https://78.media.tumblr.com/77f38b58a71633b5d658e5b73ba13e45/tumblr_pakihaMoTG1rvajymo1_400.jpg) [Paul](https://78.media.tumblr.com/48a0c22e2a2de6d150350700fafce47f/tumblr_pakihaMoTG1rvajymo2_400.jpg).

In front of the cluttered coffee table, Paul is crouched low on his feet; his boots are unlaced and hanging open sloppily, the button to his jeans popped, letting his stomach breathe. Replacing the typical silver crop-top is a black hoodie that hangs loosely on his torso. His hands are busy, picking through the doughnuts until he finds the last jelly-filled one. While he stuffs it into his mouth, he slaps the box shut, kicks it away as he stands. His nails are black, chipped, clutching at the powdery doughnut as he rounds the coffee table to collapse onto the couch beside Richard. He’s swallowed by the countless blankets.

Wildly shaking his hand over his blonde hair, further unraveling it, Paul lets out a heaved sigh as he chews lazily at the pastry in his mouth. He trains his alert gaze on his bandmate. Richard continues picking at his peeling nail polish, cigarette smoking between two fingers. Unlike Paul, he’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of comfortable black sweatpants typically thrown on after a show. He still has to shower, he _planned to_ , but then heated discussion about their midnight meal prevented him from doing so.

Gaining Richard’s attention, Paul nudges him with his boot and says thickly past the doughnut, “When are the others getting back?”

Richard huffs and drops his hands, propping his elbow against the armrest. He rakes his fingers through his long locks, sweeping the silver out of his face. He shrugs, training his eyes on the other man, who takes another massive bite out of the jelly doughnut. Richard speaks flatly, panning his gaze over the cluttered interior of the hotel room to eventually stare at the graffiti Till left on the fridge.

“They said they were just going to pick up some food from that Asian place down the street. I wouldn’t know, it depends how good the service is and how fast they get that shit done. You know they’re going to be ordering a lot, anyways. Till could eat a restaurant out of business after a show.”

He’s rambling. He shuts up and brings his cigarette to his lipstick-smeared mouth. Paul hums and contributes nothing else. For a while, they just lounge together: Paul with his feet propped against Richard’s thigh, legs crossed, doughnut occupying his mouth. Richard keeps his gaze trained elsewhere as he smokes his way through this cigarette, occasionally lifting a hand to brush his loose bangs out of his eyes. His eyes which are taking a much needed break—they always tend to burn when he keeps the contacts in for too long.

Suddenly, Paul is lurching up into a seated position, curling his legs under himself as he moves closer to the other man. Richard watches him with an arched brow. Paul is all wide-eyed, yet straight-faced, as he snags the dying cigarette from the other man and replaces it with the remnants of his doughnut.

“You get the last bite,” he says with a tilt of his head and an arch of a brow, before collapsing back against his end of the couch, as if that’s reason for Richard to _thank_ him for taking away his cigarette. Whatever, it was almost dead anyways. Richard pops the remainder of the doughnut into his mouth. Instantly, sweetness replaces the bitter taste of the filter; that has Richard appreciating it.

“Can you imagine doing this for another ten years?” Paul asks suddenly, while Richard is working through the pastry. Glancing over at the other man, Richard looks him up and down. Paul is ruffling his fingers through his wild blonde locks again, his eyes trained on Richard beyond his wrist. His hoodie had risen up from his previous shifting—Richard unintentionally notices a sliver of his belly peeking out. He trains his tired eyes on Paul’s.

“I don’t know,” Richard says, shrugging. He’s too exhausted to really do the chatting thing, but it’s easier with Paul. “I would rather not imagine sitting on a couch with you, half-dead and eating your leftovers, for another ten years. Not my kind of life.”

“Really? Sounds ideal to me,” Paul remarks sarcastically. Then, startling Richard, he violently rises up again, though this time he gets off the couch entirely and kicks off his undone boots. They go flying into parts of the hotel room. Richard shields his face lamely with a single hand, anticipating getting one straight to the jaw. When he drops his hand, elbow propped against the armrest, he’s further alarmed to see Paul turning to him and boldly crawling onto his lap, knees planted on both sides of his thighs.

“Paul, what the hell are you doing?” Richard asks, staring up at him with a slow, wary grin spreading across his blackened lips. Paul rakes all fingers of both hands through Richard’s wild silver locks, brushing them behind Richard’s ears. He curls his fingers into his hair and tightens his hold, before pulling Richard’s head back. Richard looks up at him with surprise in his eyes, amusement in his grin—he thinks this is just a big joke. Paul searches his handsome face with a slight smile on his own. Gazing up at him, Richard glances across his developing stubble, his boyish features, his striking eyes decorated by fading eyeliner.

This is honestly the hottest Richard has ever seen him—not that he’s necessarily _attracted_ to him. You can’t help but think someone of the same gender is handsome, or hot, or sexy, or _whatever,_ whether you’re on that side of the spectrum or not. And that’s exactly what Paul is—he looks electrifying, like this. With the long-ish blonde locks falling across his forehead, his energetic eyes, his pretty lips pulled into a grin. A lovely contrast to the rather stoic, stony face he pulls onstage. Richard sees _this—_ the wild eyes, the laughter, the smiling—more often than what Paul shows onstage, though.

“I don’t know,” Paul answers honestly, snickering already. Richard’s hands reflexively raise when Paul leans in, head angled, to kiss him firmly over the brow, his cheek, his forehead. He smooches his nose, his ear, his eyelids when Richard’s squeeze his eyes shut. At first, it’s enjoyable and has Richard’s heart warming. But _then_ Paul is crushing their lips together.

Richard isn’t sure what to do, how to react. He’s not really _gay,_ and he’s certainly not into Paul like this. Well, at least, until now. Now, he’s discovering it’s actually pretty nice kissing the other man. Mostly because a) Paul is one of his closest friends, b) he’s looking particularly hot right now, and c) kissing almost always gets a pleasant response out of him. Richard knows his willingness is mostly due to his body’s reflexive reaction to such a heated kiss, rather than there being a repressed desire to kiss _this_ man especially. Either way, he’s not pushing him back.

Paul’s hands are clutching at the sides of his head, fingers wound in his locks. Richard sets his own on Paul’s sides, upon the soft cotton of his black hoodie. The kiss is brief—nervous, intense, uncertain. Their lips mash together for only a moment (Paul’s teeth catching on Richard’s bottom lip, their shaky exhales shared between them, the blackness transferring from Richard’s mouth to Paul’s lips and chin) before Paul is sitting back again. As they look at each other, both bearing expressions of vague confusion and awe, Paul continues holding Richard’s face. Richard admires the flush to Paul’s cheeks, the lipstick smeared over his skin and stubble.

“Uh,” Paul says, and then nervously laughs, “Sorry?”

Richard takes a deep breath and licks his lips. He smiles a little, and then laughs himself, gazing up into his wide gray eyes.

“You’re really weird, you know that, right?”

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
